“That you and Denis Northey had a wager over who would ruin my sister first. That said bet was made over a game ofvingt-et-unat Bill Campion’s hell, refined at a Le Belle Maison, and entered in the betting book here in a coded message to each other. That Northey upped the ante by declaring he could get her with child within a month.”
Broxley froze. “Newbury—”
“Broxley. When you came after my sister, you shattered whatever imaginary bond that existed between us as gentlemen and rakes. And if I find out either of you ever comes near Lady Elizabeth again, I will not wait for pistols at dawn.” Thomas moved his cane out in front of the chair. “And now that Lady Rose Timmons knows exactly how nefarious you are, she will make sure no lady of the season will look twice at you. I suggest you both find that a tour of the Continent is much preferable this season to a search for a wife.”
Broxley half rose from the chair, a scowl casting harsh shadows on his face. “Newbury—”
Thomas stamped the cane on the floor, a thud that caused the entire room to glance in their direction. He stood and straightened his shoulders. “Men like you are the reason she is the way she is.” Thomas turned to go.
“She cannot have children, you know!” Broxley’s half-shout brought a curtain of silence down on the whole room.
Thomas turned slowly, his eyes narrowed to slits, his lips tight. “What did you say?”
Broxley’s self-assured air faltered and he swallowed hard. He shrugged one shoulder. “Ask Bentley. Roger Bentley. He was engaged to her. Broke it off because she’s barren. Why she’s been on Spinster’s Row forever. Stay away from her, Newbury. You are not special. She will destroy you just like she has so many others.”
Thomas stood still, a raw bile roiling in his gut, disgust for the man in front of him tightening every muscle. The man was a pig. Rose had been right about him. He watched as Broxley squirmed under his tight gaze, slowly getting to his feet. As the man stepped away from the chair, Thomas jerked into motion, taking one long stride toward him, raising the cane.
Broxley squealed—a noise that was a cross between a startled toddler and an injured piglet—and scrambled away from Thomas, overturning an accent table and stumbling into the card table, causing a chorus of shouts to erupt from the players.
Thomas stopped with the one step, watching the result with mixed amusement. He lowered the cane, shook his head at Broxley’s cowardice, and retreated from the room, turning his back as he left. With their usual prescience, one of White’s butlers waited near the foyer with his greatcoat. He nodded his thanks as he shrugged into it, heading into one more of London’s fog-draped, chilled nights.
He needed to see his brother. Robert would have more answers, especially now that Thomas knew exactly who Rose’s big fish was.
*
Rose watched Thomasand Cecily fly about the Eatonton ballroom in a lively Scots reel, ignoring the spear of envy that had lodged itself just below her breastbone. It did not matter that it was the perfect dance for a couple who was not really courting. The constant footwork and rapid turns and circles meant a couple barely had time to speak, and the only physical contact was between gloved hands. But Rose loved dancing the reel—and her unceasing affection for the man partnering her sister continued to gnaw at her heart, regardless of how often she scolded herself about its impossibility.
It didn’t help that Thomas had dressed to stand out tonight. His indigo topcoat emphasized a blue and silver brocade waistcoat, and his dark gray breeches fit snuggly enough that the muscles in his thighs stood in sharp relief. The elegant cut of his topcoat emphasized his long and lean torso encased to spectacular effect in that waistcoat, which seemed to spark light when he held out his hand to his partner. When he spun through the turns, the tails on his coat lifted enough that Rose could see exactly how well his tailor had fitted his breeches across his backside.
The Eatonton ballroom seemed infinitely warmer than the Higginbotham one had.
“Are you not supposed to be watching the people around the edge of the floor?” Ann’s voice was a niggling reminder in Rose’s ear.
Rose’s eyelids fluttered.Of course she was. She’d certainly had no trouble focusing on the crowd when Robert had swirled Cecily through a minuet earlier in the evening.Thathad been a sight to behold. As a season’s Incomparable, Cecily had her choice of partners. That she had selected Robert for the first minuet had set fans to flitting and theon-ditto soaring. They had made a sparkling couple, with Robert in burgundy and silver and Cecily in layered skirts of white and ruby tulle and gauze. Her gown of the evening had been declared by Madame Adrienne as one of the best of the season, with its silver embroidered medallions on the bodice—each dotted with ruby beads—a tiny, ruched waist, and silver bows down the three-quarter sheath sleeves and along the seam of the back. Two of the dragons of thetonhad even stood, leaning on their canes, peering through their lorgnettes as the charming Robert had made Cecily laugh and blush.
They had stood out, even among the elaborate gowns around them. And, once again, Rose felt bland in comparison. Although Madame Adrienne had been able to repair the damage Athena had wreaked by replacing the front panel of the blue and gold gown, the train had been rendered beyond help. The lovely embroidery, which had been the highlight of the gown, had to be trimmed away. Instead of an eye-catching train, Rose’s silk gown now had a plain back with only a few flounces around the hem. Sarah had added some beading to the bodice, but overall, it would be Rose’s least impressive frock of the season and a mere blip of color in the kaleidoscope of debutantes at the Eatonton ball, which was proving to be one of the livelier events.
While paling in comparison to the Higginbotham ball, the Eatonton affair was still quite lavish, with a Caribbean theme of palms, rubber plants, and a rum-based punch to add to the standard diluted lemonade. Hothouse blooms of all shapes and sizes draped from every possible surface, filling the room with a floral range that almost overwhelmed the senses. The soaring, frescoed ceiling with inlaid mirrors reflected the light of hundreds of candles. The second major event of the season, the ball crowded almost the same number of people into a smaller room, making for a great crush, on and off the dance floor.
Tonight the spinsters and chaperones had been tucked away behind a wall of palms, which made keeping an eye on the crowd ridiculously easy, even though some of the wandering clusters of the elite occasionally blocked her view. When that happened, she and Ann overheard some of the more delicious tidbits of speculation about round-robin courtships and potential scandals, taking notes from behind the fronds. When her view cleared again, Rose had watched as Robert delivered Cecily back to their mother, then asked other ladies to dance. The next one declined, but numbers three and four had agreed and had been delighted as his dancing prowess seemed unparalleled. The circulating gossip held that Robert was a strong and kind partner who behaved impeccably.
Thomas, on the other hand, had held back. His reel with Cecily was his first dance of the evening. Instead, he had circulated for most of the night, engaging various groups of men in conversation and obviously eavesdropping on others. Twice he had disappeared out onto the terrace at the back of the ballroom, returning with exceptionally smug expressions on his face.
Rose’s curiosity had increased to the level of anxiety and restlessness. And she found that she could not take her eyes off Thomas Ashton.
“Rose?” Ann touched her arm. “So this evening is completely devoted to the brothers Ashton?”
Rose turned to her friend, heat washing over her face. “It does seem that way, does it not?”
Ann’s smile was kind. “Indeed it does. We are all a bit startled that you have let them spend so much time with Cecily without raising a ruction. So you believe them, that their goal is to become the most infamousreformedrakes of the season?”
Rose forced back a smile. “I do, as a matter of fact. And you know how thetonloves a reformed rake. If they can continue to walk straight, by June, they will be the most sought after matches in London.”
Ann laughed. “Not the least by you.”
The warmth in Rose’s face deepened, but she was grateful for a friend she could be straightforward with. “I admit that I have a certain fascination with Lord Newbury, but you and I have known that for years. We also know what a complete fantasy it is. He’s the heir to a dukedom who is going to need yet another future heir. And he and I could be madly in love, but that simple fact would leave me off any list of potential candidates.”
Ann’s eyes half-lidded in sorrow. “The doctors may not be right. They often are not.”
